


The Modder

by cococape



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Cyberpunk, Deals, DreamSMP - Freeform, First time writing dnf don't judge me, Futuristic, Hacking, Sci-Fi, This is very different from the stuff I usually do, based on a tweet I made a while back, is this even considered dnf I'm not sure lmao, mods, secret santa gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28319490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cococape/pseuds/cococape
Summary: They said that out of all the modders in all of New Dessen, he was the best.Dream is about to find out if that's true.[Cyberpunk AU]
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	The Modder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xetera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xetera/gifts).



> If you've read the other things I've written before you would probably realize that this story has just come out of nowhere and yes you would be right ahaha.
> 
> This was completely out of my comfort zone but I think despite that I did a good job :D

No one ever comes to Fundy “just to chat”.

It was either because they needed something, _he_ needed something, or they wanted to gamble.

And looking at the porcelain man himself, who graced his presence upon him in the dingy casino where he made his business, he would have assumed they were looking for some money to spend.

And he would have assumed correctly. Because he certainly didn’t have a bounty on anyone. Not that he knew of.

Leaning back into his chair, he let the weight of his own clunky metal mask tilt his head back, his face pointed upwards to stare at his guest.

“And what brings the oh-so-famous Dream and his crew into my establishment?” He asked casually, as if the man was not worth ten times his net value. As if his signature plain white mask didn’t easily dwarf the fox head he wore himself, adorned with simple voice modifiers, scanners, and rgb lights. As if the man were not more than capable of snapping his spine like a twig and stomping on his remains.

“I’m looking for mods.”

“Upgrades? You know we don’t do those here.”

“Something…” Dream paused, ignoring the coder’s protest. “Something new this time, I think.”

“Again, _Sir_. We don’t do those here.” Fundy crossed his arms in warning, preparing to call his men to arms. “Illegal modifications are illegal for a reason.”

“And I’m choosing them, for a reason.” The man snapped back, and Fundy could hear the mechanical gears in his own helmet whir to life, as the machine reacted to his surprise, the pointed decorative ears tilting back at the jolt of his heart. “You know why. I’m sure you’ve heard the tales?”

“And I’m inclined not to believe them.” He replied, a lie through his gritted teeth, as his display began scanning the machinery and data that Dream had implemented onto his body.

What he gained back in return, was a list spanning dozens and dozens of pages. Hundreds of them, vague names of uploaded mods and metal parts, many which the coder barely recognized. Some, which only gave back symbols as names.

Napoleon strength modifiers. Hermes speed modifiers. All the common ones were there. But there were others layered on top of them, others that seemed more DIY than Fundy was comfortable with. Uploads that were named after a line of numbers, or nonsense random words, or even a string of unwarranted expletives.

It was the law, that there was a set limit to how many mods a person could install permanently in themselves. Some number based in science that had their own reasons, something about philosophy and corrupted memories and the percentage one had to be to still be considered human. All Fundy knew from his time scrolling through forums was that it’s over 69, but under 420.

But this list. It had given him the names of thousands of mods; including those that were banned or discontinued, and it was still loading in.

“I hear you’re the best in the business.” He added, as if flattery was going to bring him into the hacker’s good graces.

“Clearly I’m not, considering I don’t have a license to sell.”

“Oh,” Dream waved his hand, and one of his men came forward, the gold chain around his neck reflecting what little light illuminated the space around them. “You might find that suddenly, you do.”

The object that landed on the table — ruining his nice set of cards and leaving scuff marks on the wooden surface — was a metal briefcase. Even after decades, when credit was king, that briefcase was self-explanatory.

The briefcase was a language all on its own, a secret code left unsaid.

Fundy turned to his fellow comrades around him, who watched the whole affair with slight amusement — H on his left, with a raised eyebrow in his direction, and Nikki on his right, suppressing giggles. He looked down at his cards, and sighed, flipping them over.

“Game’s over. Give us a little space.” He said over the sound of Nikki’s laugh and H’s congratulations, counting the number of zeroes that appeared on his display as he studied the case’s contents. “It seems I have a bit of business to attend to.”

~ ~ ~

Dream didn’t know what he expected.

He’s heard legends about Fundy. As someone who’s made a living for himself through his world-famous manhunt web-series and his underground events of the same name, it was nearly impossible to say he’s never heard of the man.

Those that won in the show were often hated against online, angry fans claiming that their mods had come from the elusive coder. Those who entered his events dropped his name as a threat, before they inevitably made a stupid mistake that caused their own downfall.

In both cases, the claims were rarely true. He knew, because if they were, the contestants on his show would all be dead, the episode left unaired. He knew, because Fundy’s mods were often described to be “too good” — so powerful and incredibly effective at what one wanted them to do that more often than not, his alleged customers ended up dead from their actions or their misuse of the product.

It took Sapnap too long for comfort to find people who were willing to part with information about him. It took George too long to sift out the truth from the lies. And even now, staring at this man who looked more like a DJ from the early 21st century than a myth forbidden to be repeated, Dream wondered if they even had the right guy.

“I’d prefer if it were just you.” The fox man said in his synthesized voice, looking at the boys behind him. “If you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” He agreed, before they could protest.

Seemingly satisfied with the verbal response, he gestured at Dream to follow as he began his casual walk down the dull carpets towards the elevator that seemed to barely hold a capacity of one. And yet, Fundy impatiently motioned for him to enter, the electric sigh rattling out of his metallic head more like a soft growl.

“So,” Dream began as the doors slid shut and the lift jolted to life, taking them downwards. “What’s with…”

“You didn’t pay me for a one on one interview,” The modder interrupted, his knuckles white as they tightened around the briefcase in his hands. “And I’m not inclined to provide one. You don’t ask about my style choices, That’s the deal.”

“But I signed no contract.” Dream protested jokingly as the doors opened with a sad and pathetic tone, allowing both men to enter the space beyond.

At first glance, the room looked nothing like one would expect out of the basement of an old, rundown casino. The walls were pristine, shining with dark panels that activated as the room became occupied, revealing the colourful neon city of New Dessen from above.

His city.

The floor was made out of simple and smooth tiles of a black rock, reflecting the artificial light that mirrored whatever light streamed in from the live feeds somewhere hundreds of feet above them.

And Dream couldn’t help but gape in awe of all of this as his host wandered over to the bar to grab them both a glass.

“I’d prefer if we get straight to the point.” Fundy began, pouring them both a whisky, which the green clad man accepted gratefully as he took a seat. “You’re a big name. Means you’re a big client. And though it is an honour to get a commission from you sir, you might understand my caution—”

The fox man lifted his own glass in preparation to drink, before seemingly realizing the metal that blocked him from doing so. With a sigh, he set the cup down and lifted the helmet off his head.

Dream didn’t know what he expected. Perhaps someone hard-eyed, bruised, a look of experience and expertise from years in the streets. Someone who was strong. Someone who could best him. Someone worthy of the legends told about him.

Not… someone young. Eyes wide with experience, yes. But experience through education, not through violence. Someone who looked too innocent, who was raised somewhere good, who had no business in the underground. Someone who looked softened by a world outside the harshness of the city, who was naive of the inner workings and the ways of culture they practiced. Someone whose face was unblemished and left unscarred by upgrades or mods.

“Sorry.” He says sheepishly, taking a sip, and his voice too did not match the expectations that Dream had for him. The voice modifier paired with his formal attire gave him the air of a fellow leader, someone who had followers who would fight at his command. But instead, it was high, a signal of youth, the city laced with an accent that the man couldn’t quite put his finger on.

But in a way, Dream had to admit that his youth made him that much more terrifying.

“As I was saying,” Fundy continued, fixing his flattened brown hair. “I hope you take no offense when I say that the last thing I want is to be associated with your brand. You’re too…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Grandiose for my operations. You make more noise than most of my clients. I don’t want to be held liable—”

“You won’t.” The masked man promised eagerly. “Once the program has been implemented, I will personally make sure that you and I have no ties—”

“Let me finish.” The boy snapped. “I don’t want to be held liable if you wind up dead from saying or doing the wrong thing. My operations have always been flawless. It’s the life after that has the highest fatality rate.”

“No one will ever dare touch me.”

It was meant to provide a sense of confidence. But Fundy only laughed.

“If I had a dime for the number of clients who’ve told me that.” He sighed, wiping his tears away. “I could probably pay off all my debts by now. Alas, there are many gang leaders and desperate businessmen who prove otherwise. What’s the story? The sun and Issac... or something?” He shrugged. “The point is, this is not an if. You will die at the hands of my programs. And when they examine your cause of death, it will all lead back to me. And that is not the kind of publicity I want.”

“I’ll be different.”

“Why? Because you’re a mod junkie?” Fundy scoffed. “If anything, that’s even more of a reason for me to refuse you service. Do you know how much trouble I will get in if I’m caught? This is worse than operating without a license, you know. I could be sentenced to life in stasis. Execution. They’ll hunt down my friends and family, destroy their lives just for being associated with mine.”

“I promise you that with the money comes all the protection I can offer. Ponk and Punz are very good at what they do.” Dream reached inside his jacket and produced a slip of paper. “But this is the mod I want to commission you.”

The modder took the slip cautiously, reading the small script once with a smirk. Then, a second time in confusion. Then, a third.

“Are you sure?” He asked, surprised.

“Yes. A hundred percent.”

“This… You can literally ask anyone else.”

“You’re the best in the business.” Behind his mask, Dream smiled. “And I can’t afford it to be faulty.”

~ ~ ~

Being outside again… It was comforting.

Dream leaned against the railing, watching the sun rise between the signs and buildings, casting cold dark shadows as the nightlife closed their doors and allowed the lawful citizens of New Dessen to crowd the streets.

He thought back to the boy, when he was preparing to install the program.

 _“You don’t have mods.”_ Dream had noted.

 _“I don’t use permanent mods.”_ Fundy had corrected as he prepared the anesthesia.

_“Not even your own?”_

_“Oh, of course not.”_ He laughed at the ridiculous notion. “I’m not stupid.”

_“Why?”_

_“Why not?”_ He shrugged, checking the monitors. _“I guess… I’d rather be human than just another machine.”_

Dream sighed at the confusing memory, taking a sip of his best glass of poison. Because he was still human, despite having 823 mods, right?

Well… 824 now.

“Dream? You’re back.”

Startled, Dream turned around, his display whirring to life, bombarding him with information. But, it was only George, who seemed as shocked at his presence as he was.

“Uh, Yeah.” He laughed, swiping the alerts away with his hand. “The operation didn’t take as long as expected. And he really is good at what he does; he was able to program everything in a few hours for me. It cost a bit more than expected but...”

His fingers paused, as his last notifications slipped away to the edges of his vision. Until only one widget remained in his visual field, glowing with a red border underneath his friend’s profile.

_Emotions: Calibrating…_

He lowered his hand with a smile as George joined him at the balcony.

“Is this going to be your last one?” He asked, voice low.

_Emotions: Worry_

“Uh... “ Dream grimaced. “We’ll… We’ll see.”

“You always say that.” He sighed, eyes looking off to the distance.

_Emotions: Disappointed_

“And it’s always been true.” He protested. “I’ve never said—”

“I get it, alright?”

_Emotions: Frustrated_

“You pride yourself in your ability to keep promises. And you’re happy just knowing that you’re keeping this one.”

Dream swallowed.

“But this one wasn’t an impulse decision. Not—”

George scoffed.

“They never are, are they?”

“No, George.” He hesitated. “That’s… That’s not what I mean.”

“It’s always the same. And the more you get, the worse you become.” He sighed, fingers tracing circles on the metal railing. “It’s like this with everything. The manhunts, the fame. And now, the mods.”

“This one…” Dream trailed off, suddenly unsure. Were emotions always so all over the place?

_Emotions: Exasperated_

“What?”

And George looked at him then, and Dream could almost see the cybernetics whirring behind his goggles, giving him colour and letting him see. But despite the tint of the lens, he could still visualise the colour of his one good eye, the way it was the dark of the earth he once saw as a child so long ago, a colour lost in a world of grey concrete and neon lights.

“You know what?” The other said, pushing away from the railing, and Dream realized too late that he had been silent for too long “It’s fine. I don’t need to know your reasons.”

“No, George—”

“It’s fine!” He laughed bitterly, making his way back inside. “Keep changing. Keep moving farther away from the Dream I once knew.”

_Emotions: Upset_

“George…” Dream bit his lip, panic filling his head, as more widgets popped up on his display.

_Would you like to calm down?_

_Release sedatives? [Y / N]_

_Watch this instructional video of this woman doing yoga_

_Audify recommends this playlist to help you calm down—_

He swiped them all away.

“George I—” He took a step towards him. “George, wait. Please.”

But he wouldn’t stop. Why wouldn’t he stop?

Dream was speechless, trying to reach for him. In his mind, his arms grasped at thin air. But in reality, he was left frozen. Frozen in terror and fear, of losing something he thought he would always have.

“It was for you!”

He blurted them, the words spilling out like a sea. And his friend stopped and turned around.

_Emotions: Confused, Surprised_

But those words didn’t do it justice. The way his friend turned around incredulously, laughing almost mockingly. The way it all stopped, when he noticed the desperation, despite the mask.

“What?”

“The mod. The one I got today.” Dream clarified. “It was for you. Or… I got it because of you. For you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I—” He began, but the words that once slipped easily through his lips now seemed to be walled off, held back by some part of his brain that stubbornly refused to let his own emotions run through him. Was it the part that was robotic, some long forgotten mod made to bring him the image of a thing that lacked empathy? Or was it because he was still human? That it was because of his humanity, his self-consciousness and his fear of his own self-image that prevented the words from coming out?

“Please don’t leave.” He whispered instead. And for a moment, his display didn’t change, the world didn’t move, and he was afraid that maybe — Just maybe — he was too quiet, the sound lost in the wind and the warm glow of the sun behind him.

Maybe the words failed to escape him, maybe he imagined his own voice in his head, maybe there was a mod that he installed that prevented him from saying stupid things—

_Emotion: Curiosity, Confusion_

But the words changed as George’s feet shuffled closer. Back to him.

“When did I say I was going to leave?” He asked, his dark moods replaced with parted lips and a small laugh.

“But you—”

“Dream, Do you really not remember?” He chuckled. “There’s a difference between being mad, and truly just being disappointed. I’m upset, sure. But only because being upset is such a broad term. It’s… It’s a spectrum, and I’m only at the tip.”

He took another step closer.

“But you were frustrated.” Dream pointed out, and George smiled like he was talking to a young child, learning things for the first time.

“I’m frustrated because I’m worried, Dream. Worried about you. And you can’t be worried about someone without feeling that frustration when they don’t listen to you.”

“That… that makes no sense.”

“What part?” He laughed. “It makes perfect sense to me.”

_The part where you want to fix me, when I should have reached perfection so long ago._

_The part where you want to help me, when I have no need for help anymore._

_The part where you want me back. Because the version I am now has to be the best version of myself possible._

But Dream didn’t say any of those things. He took a step towards George, his eyes glazing over the red text that changed on his display.

“The part…” He began, hesitantly. “The part where you care so much about me, to the point that I’m afraid that I can’t give it back.”

“That’s ridiculous.” His intelligence smiled, but there was uncertainty flickering in his eyes. Fear laced what was left of his heart, but Dream trudged on.

“The part where…” He took another step forward. “Where I want you to know I’m still here, even though that’s true, that’s always been true. And you act like it’s not.”

“Dream..?” He counter laughed, nervous. “Where is this going?”

“George, I want… I want you to know…”

_That without you I would have fallen so long ago._

_That without you I would not see any sense in the world._

_That without you I would be dead a thousand times over._

“I want you to know that I care.” He ended lamely. “That I’m here. That I love you like a brother.”

And maybe so much more than that.

“And that’s all?”

And Dream looked into the darkness of George’s eyes and saw the same kindness. The same soft expression. Like he always has.

_Emotions: Flustered_

He smiled, taking a step back.

“That’s all.” He confirmed, his legs moving him back into the confines of the home. The base. Their planning space.

“Dream?”

He turned around, startled.

“Yeah?”

George only smiled.

“And I to you.” He replied, rushing over to join his friend. “And I… To you.”


End file.
